Becoming
by Thyme In Her Eyes
Summary: [AU] Jean, Logan, and the kiss in the woods... [Jean x Logan]


Becoming

by Thyme In Her Eyes

_Author's Note:_ First off, I own nothing. This is my first ever X-Men fanfic, so please be kind. It's an introspective not-quite-happy-not-quite-sad Jean/Logan piece and is an AU set during New X-Men #117 (the kiss in the woods scene). Just my take on what if things had happened a little differently. Rated M just in case. Enjoy!

-- BECOMING --

"_You can keep breathing,/ I only fall when you are near me."_ -- Sneaker Pimps (Becoming X).

---

Jean knew the score, had made her calculations. She'd put all her observations and insights and bleakest projections to work, and could see with unclouded eyes the bigger picture that they painted. She was wise, free of illusions and fairytales. She knew the way the real world worked, had been hardened to it. She thought she could grasp it all, even while she knew what she was really doing was more than just letting go. It was letting everything slide.

_She's kissing Logan, undressing Logan…_

She knew there were countless reasons why she shouldn't be doing this. Jean knew it made sense to stop things before they went too far. She knew it wouldn't make her feel any better in the long run; she would be twice as pained by the end of it. And it wasn't just her own emotional stability at stake – she also knew how many other people she was going to end up hurting by not stopping this and regaining her rationality, her loyalty, her sense of duty. But she'd gone over the too-many reasons and denials all before, and by now felt numb to them. They made no impact on her any more, and she was so tired of being the stereotype almost everyone thought she was. The hollow reasons all played in her head, telling her why she was doing the wrong thing – _the worst thing_ – and she acknowledged them, knowing fully that they were right and she was wrong as she ignored their preaching and did it anyway. The reasons kept on coming back and playing and replaying annoyingly in her mind, and Jean let them play. _Let them be the background music_, she thought wryly.

_He steers her backwards until she's pressed hard up against a tree and the scent of pine is flooding her senses as Jean finds herself trapped between rough bark and rougher kisses…_

She was out of her mind, beyond herself. Not the usual Jean. This was overboard, unlikely, out-of-character stuff. But she was so lonely. She'd sunk into a bad place emotionally – a black, cold room, alone with her replenished powers, and feeling Scott slip away from her more and more every day. Now she was slipping too, falling into a place she didn't want to venture to but not worrying about saving herself. Jean felt drained to the point of sheer apathy and couldn't be bothered to hold on or hold out any longer; she just wanted to sink and forget. She didn't care about resisting this pull any more. She was lonely and confused, not passionate, and knew that Logan could tell but was too in love with her or not enough in love with her to stop her from using him and stop himself from taking advantage of her.

_Inwardly calling herself a manipulative bitch, Jean opens her mouth to Logan and pulls him closer…_

Jean fully knew that she'd have a dozen regrets and new hurts come morning, but in the cool night air, under moonlight and starlight and knowing that Scott wasn't even wondering where she was, she'd stopped caring. She only wanted to feel – God, she needed _something_… Something to make it all go away for a while, or to distract her mind from her current problems by giving her a new set of more painful ones to cope with instead.

_Her fingers slither and slide over his chest, grazing nipples, working their way down to his belt and his own hands are ravenously all over her as she slowly unbuckles it…_

As she was going through the motions, not trying to make it more than that, her common sense did more than wag its figurative finger at her and remind her more times than she needed that what she was doing was wrong, so very, very wrong. It also told that this wouldn't be worth it. She knew that, too. She'd thought it through, drew conclusions that hadn't satisfied her, and gone along with it regardless.

_His hands are cupping her face, holding hers to his, fusing their mouths together, then are running through her thick red hair, and then diving under her top…_

It wouldn't be that good. More likely than not, it would be a big let-down. She was a grown woman in touch with reality, after all. She knew things, and had a proud sense of realism even in a world as crazy as hers. It couldn't ever be as good as it had promised to be over the years of secret and guilt-ridden wanting. After so many years of guilty curiosity, remorseful anticipation and anguished fantasising, it could never live up to her expectations, or her imagination. There was too much pathos between them for that. It would be awkward and sad. It was awkward and sad already, their kisses were full of confused misery, and despite encouraging Logan as best as she could, Jean couldn't ignite any real desire in herself. They'd make love till he came, and looking at each afterwards they'd wonder why it hadn't been able to live up to the hype. Why it was so wooden and emotionless. The long-felt attraction would prove to have been a lie, and this guilty and despairing encounter wouldn't be anywhere near as good as either of them had expected or wanted. She hadn't started this with any high expectations or desires, though – it didn't need to be good, it just needed to _happen_.

_Off goes her leather trenchcoat, fluttering into the dark, cold air; and his powerful hands rip at her top, exposing her breasts to the night and to eyes dark with haunted want for her…_

It was supposed to be a breathlessly thrilling fall, but it felt like sinking into thick and choking mud. Too many years of a build-up and she wasn't even in the mood right then. She paid not attention to that, and needed Logan to carry on regardless. It was all her fault, she was the initiator, there was no getting away from that, but even as she reached her hand into his leather pants to cup him, she didn't feel any real want in her body or soul. It wasn't a good night for her – it was the withering that came after she'd had all she could take from her husband's coldness. Her thoughts were a million miles from sex and romance and Jean was completely unashamed of how lethargic and unresponsive she was in Logan's arms, and how sorely it showed, even as her words and actions hurried him on. She was unhappy, far from desire, but never wanted to stop. Her kisses were weak and dull, just empty actions, and unable to hide her body's disinterest. She was just too tired from all the conflict, confusion and constant calculations to even try.

_His hands move from her breasts to her ass, groping it firmly, and he's cleaving to her as he makes short work of her pants…_

Even Jean was disappointed with herself. She'd expected more from herself at a moment like this. She wasn't passionate, wild and uncontrollable or sweetly surrendering like she was in her guilty dreams and fantasies – she was cold and aloof, but wanted it to happen anyway, maybe just to hurt herself deeper. All she wanted were the sluggish motions, she pretended, not the fire of her forbidden daydreams. Her loneliness deteriorated and fragmented her, and she had to cling to something, even in as depressing an encounter as this. It wasn't a blazing, blinding release from all her constraints, it was just her will to resist crumbling, letting everything slip away, an act of sinking heavily into a kind of self-obliteration. She'd given up, didn't want to try any more. Only wanted it over. It was deep depression that fuelled her, not want. What she wanted was to _want _him. And to feel desired in return. For things to be like they were before. She wanted Scott, wanted him to look at her and touch her and love her like he did before, but she knew she craved Logan too and could settle for this, and for that Jean needed to punish herself. She didn't want to feel revived, just crushed out of existence by the weight of her actions, her rare selfishness. The pain was a chasm, and she'd fallen in and felt on her way to being swallowed whole.

_They crash down onto the damp grass of the forest floor, she can't remember how her clothes vanished and Logan's mouth is hot, so hot, on her skin…_

Jean was as passive as could be and let him take charge. She let him lay her down on the ground, naked as he was. She looked over his shoulder up at the star-spangled night sky and remembered being a little girl, before Annie went and the powers came, and wondering through the night if the stars were made of fire or ice and if they'd be hot or cold to the touch, before her parents or school had taught her the answer.

_Hands gripping at her hair as if trying to lose themselves forever in it, he kisses her heatedly, over and over, before crawling down the length of her form and mapping out the soft and slender terrain of her body…_

She ached with a pained need for him to have her and get it over with, but she didn't want to touch him. She couldn't bear to try and join in and get involved in the act; all she wanted was for it to happen. She couldn't feel him, didn't want him. Jean was using him, and using herself too. They'd both come out of this stained, hurt and confused. She only felt cold and crushed under his weight, the forest floor feeling like slugs against her back, but didn't want to stop.

_He touches her between her legs and she feels nothing..._

She was hurting him, she knew, deeper than she'd expected or feared. The sadness and uncomprehending pain were stark in his eyes and rippling out of his thoughts stronger and stronger with each passing moment she failed to summon the strength or willpower to look at him or respond to him. And she was sorry, so sorry for everything, but wanted too badly – they were outside, in the forest under the stars and she wanted him to make love to her, because now was the moment when she was aching and alone and needed it to happen for better or for worse. There was no turning back from that decision. Jean was already openly crying for him, sorry and ashamed, not bothering to hide the tears slipping down her cheeks or disguise the sobs catching in her throat.

_Logan is looking at her tears, agonizingly troubled emotions burning in his eyes, and tries to move off her, to stop everything, but Jean gently winds her arms around him, still crying and coaxing him down on top of her…_

Logan was trying his best to apply the breaks, to get through to her and stop her from hurting herself worse than she already was and maybe save his own drowning soul too, but Jean had made her calculations: this was the only moment she'd be ready and she didn't want him to stop or save her. Again, Logan tried to back away from her, seeing how much she didn't really want him and how much she definitely didn't need this. He didn't want it anymore either, had never wanted her like _this_. She was so beautiful, but so broken, and he was only breaking her worse and Logan had never wanted Jean to come to him out of misery. He'd never wanted to see her so defeated, never wanted to take advantage of her vulnerability but she begged him not to stop. He'd never wanted things go so far in a moment like this, when the fire had gone out of her spirit, but he hadn't been able to muster the strength to walk away after that first kiss and he sure as hell couldn't now, and felt doomed to let her drag him down into that dark empty place where her heart was living. As he looked down at her hopelessly, he wore his pain nakedly, moreso than Jean had ever seen anyone do, showing her more fear, agony and vulnerability in that moment than she could recall anyone ever showing her before, but Jean still begged, and pleaded that it was already too late and that they had to finish it. Quiet, compassionate whispers, choked with heartache. She needed him to ignore his pain, and her own. She looked in his eyes and pleaded, and everything about her communicated to him her deep and unhappy need and Logan couldn't say no.

_Looking down at Jean and her misery, seeing how she's crying for him, he knows the only thing he can do, and lets her take him with her, giving her all there is of him as he tenderly puts his lips to her closed eyes, tasting her tears and working his way down to her mouth before gently pulling her into a kiss long and sweet…_

Understanding the power Jean had unconsciously given him by letting him take charge of things, the rules changed. Restraining his desire, Logan took his time with her, kissing her, exploring her. He was gentle, patient, unrushed. He understood her, instinctively knew what would send fire rushing through her blood. He refused to let her sink into depressed passivity. Jean tried to resist, tried to pretend he was having no effect on her; she was reluctant to feel anything, and didn't want to enjoy it. She only wanted the cold, the disappointment and the guilt. They were safe emotions, and she knew how to deal with those.

_He's slower now, soaking himself in her very essence, marking himself more than her, worshipping her, gently peeling off layers of discomfort and disinterest, teasingly and enticingly nibbling, kissing and licking fire back into her body and sensually undressing her of her depression and dispassion…_

His hands and body knew her and understood her. They spoke in their own language to her, telling her intimate secrets she had never before guessed at, secrets which amazed and awed her. Tenderly, with aching devotion, he gradually coaxed heat into her, kindled her passion, encouraged the flames to rise and ignited reluctant desire and energy. The slowest burn of her life, taking great care to nurture pleasure. _He_ needed now – needed to move her past her confused apathy and lonely numbness. To make her stop sliding away and take hold of something, whatever he could give her. Slowly, perhaps over hours, her blood started to heat. Jean's voice found her again and she started to moan with pleasure, with need. She started to want, began to arch into his touch, began to ache for more, began to move her hips and slowly grind them against his. She relearned the art of teasing. Her hands slowly lifted of the grass and reached for him, needing to feel his skin under them, softly caressing his arms, then his back, before running through his hair and tightly twining there. As more distressingly slow moments crawled by, and as Logan continued to lavish her with devoted, passionate, raw care, his mind lashing with a thousand strong contradictory emotions and desires, her touches changed from hesitant to needy, and from soft to sensual. Jean lifted her head off the cold earth under her and began to kiss him back, eager now, and felt fire relight in the dark, under the starlight. It had been so slow, so gentle, and so artfully deliberate and had brought her to life again.

_She's responding ardently now and her hands are in his hair, she's sighing desperately and hopelessly and can't remember how all this started to happen, how she lost control… _

He took all that loneliness and confusion from both of them and transformed it, used his body and all his skill to balm the emotional wounds and rouse her from her cold stupor. Jean was being pulled back to herself, and even further than that. She was aggressive now, gripping him tighter, pulling him closer, wanting him to sink into her deeper and fiercer on every imaginable level, for them to absorb each other completely and never go back. Jean began clawing at his hair, punishing his mouth and raking her nails down his back, and he was reacting with feral passion, his inner-animal calling out to hers and for the first time ever being answered as he pulled her closer and quickened his thrusts, ravaging her mouth with powerful, bruising kisses.

_She tries to cling to her problems, to ruin the mood by remembering how wrong and selfish and cruel she is, but his body is destroying her ability to even think…_

Her mind reached out and touched his, and the world was on fire. They were drinking the sun together now. Jean could barely take it, and because of that, sought it ought more greedily than ever. Her senses were a holocaust of joy. The heavy mist of her depression and aloneness were lifting and everything was alive. In her eyes, Logan was made of desire, pleasure, fire and love and pushing her harder and further than she'd ever dared go before. He was looking at her, his eyes desperate and aching deeply into her, pouring everything he had into that fleeting look, and there was closeness and music in everything afterwards. She wondered what Logan saw looking down at her because she didn't feel like she could remotely resemble anything human by now – her hair was fire, her blood was a red tide, her core was magma, her mouth was an inferno of redeeming sunlight, her sweat was molten lava and her soul was nothing less than an exploding star.

_They're both so far gone now, coming almost painfully hard…_

Logan was breathing frantically, lost so completely in her now, his shoulders heaving, a sheen of sweat clinging to him and flowing over him almost as intimately as she was. She was alive too, gasping and breathing and unbelieving – everything was pulsing. Her body, her hair, the grass under her, the air itself, the watchful trees, the sky and its million voyeuristic stars. Everything was hot, aching, moving, rising…

_And Logan is with her, every step of the way, never leaving her; Jean knows that in the hurricane of his thrusts and emotions that he feels it all too, and understands…_

After soundlessly screaming, crying throatily and clinging desperately to him, needing more and more, her body on fire, and after feeling him bite ecstatically hard into her shoulder whilst his mind unconsciously reached out to her with all his strength and pulled her deep into him as he came, Jean lay stunned and panting. She was weak, but satisfied, purified from the inside out, or so it felt. As Logan gently withdrew from her body, she felt her heart flutter with sadness. And as Logan feathered frantic and heartbreakingly tender kisses across her face, Jean calmly stilled him, kissed him deeply, and hugged him tightly to her, bones aching and mouth shaking, wrapping both arms and legs around him.

_Resting her head between the crook of his neck and shoulder, she closes her eyes peacefully, now gently and comfortingly running her hands down his back, nuzzling into his warmth and planting soft and delicate kisses to his shoulder…_

She had come to him for selfishness, for solace. She had found something else. She had expected to be numbed, but she had been sensitised and awakened. Looking into his stunned and unsure face, Jean could plainly see that it was something shocking, quickening and maybe even revelatory for him too. Neither of them were sure what to make of it, or what to do next. Meeting his eyes again, her soul was softly breaking with gratitude and warmth as well sorrowing compassion for the hurt she'd put him through, and she didn't know how to put it into words. Instead, she lovingly drew her fingertips across his brow, trailing her fingers down his face and exploring his features, wonder still glowing bright in her eyes. Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore and pressed her down in another hard and hot kiss, and she clung to him as she melted and gave as good as she got.

_Her slender arms are wrapping round him, and their fire's just cosy embers now, but still there and still shocked and awed at its own existence…_

Separating again, breathing into each other's mouths, they only just noticed how cold it was in the night air as they saw the cool puffs of breath leave their mouths. Logan was the first to flash a grin at that, and Jean suddenly burst out laughing. It was infectious, and his normally-grim face broke out into a laugh as he collapsed down next to her, pulling her as close as she could be, still laughing with her about nothing deep into the night and the empty woods.

_They laugh and then smile into each other's skin and feel each other's arms wind tightly secure, and trembling with hidden insecurity, around them – they still have no clue what'll happen next, but for the moment can't care…_

Her mood had been a bleak fog around her, but he'd cleared it away and Jean she could see the stars above her again. Vaguely, Jean knew it had been wrong and that they might have to pay for it someday, but couldn't feel it anymore. She had sparked a new fire, had drank deeply from it. In the silence, no words passing between them, she'd found something. A treasure. A connection Jean couldn't deny any longer. She'd clung desperately to his passion for her and had dived so far into it and her own feelings that she couldn't have gone back afterwards. She had touched something deep and powerful and, trembling with shock and satisfaction, she had completely given into those feelings forever and couldn't possibly take it back.

_Gently kissing him, Jean doesn't want to._

-- FIN --


End file.
